


Folded Flag

by DigitalSunburn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Military Uniforms, Tony-centric, buckys dies, endgame Stony, for the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 15:26:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11255727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigitalSunburn/pseuds/DigitalSunburn
Summary: Bucky’s hair was short in the photographic portrait that stood on a stand.Steve wasn't dressed in his Captain America outfit, like he was when Coulson died, but instead he was wearing his military uniform -which Tony had tailored so it would fit him- because this wasn't Captain America morning the lost of a teammate, but Steve Rogers losing his oldest friend.Because even a super-solider couldn't survive a bullet to the head. And it was a shitty reminder that Steve wasn't immortal. That this could have easily have been Steve. Some handsome 24x36 studio portrait smiling down at them.The thought alone made Tony think his arc reactor stopped, the shrapnel slicing into his heart.





	Folded Flag

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by; https://archiveofourown.org/works/10511529

Bucky’s hair was short in the photographic portrait that stood on a stand. Steve had requested it that way. He wanted Bucky to be remembered, not the Winter Solider.

Steve wasn't dressed in his Captain America outfit, like he was when Coulson died, but instead he was wearing his military uniform -which Tony had tailored so it would fit him- because this wasn't Captain America morning the lost of a teammate, but Steve Rogers losing his oldest friend.

And Steve looked so… old.

“I hate this.” Tony muttered to his right.

Natasha gave him a soft hum and discreetly looked sideways, “Breath, Tony.”

Tony frowned, he hadn't realized he wasn't breathing. Finally he managed to rasp in a shaky breath. The burnet caught Steve's eyes as the blond looked at him, concerned pooled in his blue eyes, and Tony silently cursed to himself. Steve shouldn't be looking at him like that, he should be looking at Bucky, morning the lost of his friend. Not concerned about him. But of course he had managed to make it about himself.

So, Tony drew his eyes away from Steve, and focused on breathing. He was trying, but it was hard. Because funerals weren't his thing. Never were, never will be. The last funeral he had attended was his parents. His parents who were killed by the man they're burying.

And suddenly Tony understood why Steve wanted Barnes to be remembered as Bucky. Because Bucky didn't kill his parents, the Winter Soldier did.

Bucky was the kid from Brooklyn. Steve's friend.

 _His_ friend.

So all in all, this particular funeral, just fucking sucks.

Because even a super-solider couldn't survive a bullet to the head. And it was a shitty reminder that Steve wasn't immortal. That this could have easily have been Steve. Some handsome 24x36 studio portrait smiling down at them.

The thought alone made Tony think his arc reactor stopped, the shrapnel slicing into his heart.

The Avengers would be seated in the front row on the quayside, they're be saluting, and the litany of heroism, and the fucking volley of gunfire. And then -Fuck- they'd be the folded flag - which they'd give to Sam. Because Tony would be outside all this. He'd be nobody.

And fuck, Tony had to look down at his chest, the blue glow of the arc reactor was still there, yet Tony felt like he was dying. He wished fervently that things would get back to their insane version of normal soon.

It wasn't until they arrived back at the tower hours later, that Tony and Steve spoke.

“You know what, Cap?” Tony asked, wishing he didn't give up drinking, cause if he was going to have this conversation, he was going to need some liquid courage, “I hate the uniform. I'm getting it un-tailored.”

Steve looked down at himself, puzzled, “You hate the uniform?”

Tony groaned, throwing himself down onto the sofa, “Well, no. I love the uniform. You look ridiculously hot in it. But I fucking hate the uniform.”

“Tony,” Steve spoke carefully, disappointment heavy in his voice, “Are you drunk?”

“Fucking wish I was,” Tony looked up at the super-solider, “I don't want the flag.”

There was a shocked silence, before Steve asked, “What?”

That feeling was back, and Tony brought a hand up to the reactor. Still there, still blue.

“Ever,” He said loudly, getting off the sofa and jabbing Steve in the chest, “All right, you idiot? I mean seriously I have no interest in getting that flag. But at the same time,” -jab- “You gotta know,” -jab- “I want the fucking flag.”

“Hey,” Steve whispered, catching Tony's hand and resting it over his heart - Tony's fingers instantly curling into the soft fabric of his uniform - his eyes clear with concern, “You can have it. Tony, you can have it.”

His voice was soft and serious, and Tony believed him.

“God, I really fucking hate you!” Tony cried, stumbling into Steve's chest.

Steve laughed -the first one since Bucky had died- and wrapped his arms around the burnet, kissing the top of his head, “I love you too.”

The gift of that one sentence fills his chest with warmth, and suddenly, Steve lips are pressed against his. The soft brush of lips, gentle yet deliberate. And Tony's heart explodes in his chest, yet he doesn't wince.

When Tony pulls back, there's a soft smile playing on his lips and his fingers trace the outline of it lazily, but he's far from calm. There's an emotion deep inside his chest, something he has no idea how to define.

This must be what love it. The biggest paradox of all.

“I love you.” Tony murmured before he pulled the blond close for another kiss.


End file.
